"Well, that's it," Dean said, as they all filed out of an exam room two days later. "Exams are over for the year."
"Pity, isn't it," Hermione agreed absently, checking that all her compass equipment was back where it had started.
"Um… no?" Dean blinked. "I'm mostly kind of glad that we can't make big mistakes any more. It's always really worrying when there's exams on, I'm afraid I'll forget something."
"Professor Dumbledore said that the point of the holidays is to let us empty our heads so we can fill them up again next year," Harry pointed out.
"Yes, but Professor Dumbledore, not to put too fine a point on it, is mad," Neville contributed. "Wonderful, but mad."
"That's how I sometimes feel about magic in general," Dean said.
"What did you guys put for question five?" Ron asked. "I couldn't remember whether Eta Carinae was a supernova or a big mass eruption, so I might have got that one wrong..."
"It's got a big nebula, but I don't think it's an actual supernova," Hermione answered, frowning. "Just a potential supernova."
"Ah, bloody hell," Ron groaned. "I hate that I got that wrong."
"It did get really bright last century," Hermione assured him. "So it might be worth some marks. Did you think of some good comets for question four?"
"Yeah, Shoemaker-Levy and Halley were the obvious ones," Ron replied. "Then I got the Great Comet as well..."
Harry was sort of listening, but there was something else he remembered he should be doing. He still needed to wrap up that gift he'd been making for Mr. Malfoy, because he wasn't sure when Mr. Malfoy would be turning up with the board of governors but it would be good to be as ready as possible.
"What do you think, Harry?" Dean asked. "Any ideas for how we could celebrate being done with exams?"
"I think I know how Oliver Wood is going to insist I celebrate," Harry said. "Remember how the last Quidditch game of the season is next week?"
"Oof, yeah, good point," Dean admitted. "I hadn't thought of that."
Harry shrugged his wings. "I think we're all just glad he was persuaded not to do practice during the exams."
"But do you need to do practice?" Neville asked. "You're ridiculously good."
"I think I really should anyway, if I'm going to be on the team," Harry explained. "The others need to know how well I can play, and stuff."
"And it's going to be a pretty long game, probably," Ron interjected. "Ravenclaw did really, really well so far, partly because of that four-hour match back in April, so Gryffindor needs about an eight-goal lead before Harry can catch the Snitch."
"That's just making me think about how Quidditch needs a major rules rethink," Dean muttered. "If Gryffindor could win all three matches and still lose the cup?"
"That's Quidditch for you," Neville shrugged. "If it was less mad I think people would just play Quodpot."
Harry made a quick trip to Fort William that evening, to see if any new books had turned up since the start of the exam season, and while the first bookshop he visited didn't seem to have any new ones of the sort he was interested in there was one which was so intriguing that he got it for Ron instead – just as a nice thing to do. It was a book about people going to the planet Mars and living on it, called Red Mars, which was a sort of fun title because Mars was red already.
It also said it was the first book of a trilogy, so maybe the other ones would be named after other colours? Either way, Harry was sure that Ron would be interested in it.
It didn't look like there was anything new that his other friends would be interested in, but in the library Harry found something that he enjoyed for a reason that was quite different to what he expected.
At first, when he found a new book called Dragon Boy, he'd quite reasonably assumed that it was about someone like him – a boy who had turned into a dragon. As it turned out, though, it was about something quite different and almost the reverse of what had happened to him, which was a boy who got adopted by a family of dragons.
(Apparently this was partly because they were on a strict no-humans diet to lose weight.)
Harry didn't finish it that day, but he decided to take it out of the library and make several copies with his book-copying spell so that he could show people like Hagrid. And buy a proper copy when he got back to Surrey, as well, because that seemed only kind.
The next day, at Quidditch practice, Harry got to wondering about good Quidditch weather and bad Quidditch weather.
It was obviously a bit different for him, because he was a dragon and didn't much care about temperature differences (or rain, for that matter), but for everyone else what would be good weather? It was sometimes a problem to play football in really hot weather, but in Quidditch anyone who was playing pretty much any position would be able to get a fifty-mile-an-hour breeze past them whenever they wanted.
Rain would be a problem just because all the droplets would hit someone really hard, but hail would be much worse… and then there was wind, as well, which could blow someone off course if it was strong enough.
Harry had to focus for a bit on something else, which was being the supporting Chaser in an attack by Cormac Maclaggen (while the rest of the Gryffindor team played defence) but once he was done with that he thought about it a bit more and decided that the worst kind of weather to play Quidditch in had to be fog, or anything else where you couldn't see the balls or other players or the ground.
Like night-time, actually.
Then there was heavy rain or hail or snow, that was pretty bad as well, and so was any weather when it was cold. A Seeker playing in freezing rain who didn't have the advantage of being a dragon would probably have to have some warming charms…
Really, it seemed like the best weather for a Quidditch match was the day after rain, when the air was clear and there was a nice mostly-clear sky. It would be extra good if it was in the summer, as well, so that the air was warm and moving around at high speed would make it a comfortable temperature.
But, then again, maybe they just used magic to deal with rain, snow and cold.
Two days before the Quidditch final, Harry was listening as Oliver Wood reminded him (again) that he was to not catch the Snitch until they had enough points.
Harry had tried saying he knew, but Oliver was very insistent, and he was just running Harry through how he should keep an eye on the Snitch and block the Ravenclaw Seeker from catching it when Hedwig came flying down towards them.
Harry flicked his tail across to act as a perch, and Hedwig landed on it – making the Nimbus 2001 bob down slightly – and permitted Harry to take the letter from her beak.
"Is something up?" Oliver asked, drifting a little closer. "Doesn't your owl know to deliver letters at breakfast?"
Hedwig's head snapped around, and she gave Oliver such a glare that he recoiled.
"Yeah, but she also knows that sometimes something's really urgent," Harry explained, opening the letter with his claw.
Harry, it read.
I'm very sorry to pull you away from what is doubtless a fine way to spend a summer morning (or afternoon, depending on how long it takes for this letter to be delivered) but I was hoping that we could discuss your extra-curricular activities this summer.
I am afraid that having the conversation as soon as possible would be preferable, and I can tell you that my current office password is Opal Fruits.
Hoping this finds you in good health,
Albus Dumbledore (Grand Sorceror, Supreme Mugwump, Et Cetera.)
"Sorry, Oliver, I'm going to need to go and see Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, folding up the letter again. "It sounds urgent – I'll come back here once I'm done."
"Well..." Oliver began, then nodded. "If it's urgent, that's fine. I'm not completely Quidditch obsessed."
"I beg to differ!" Fred called.
"Oi!" Oliver shouted back. "Right, we're doing Bludger defence drills – Cormac, grab a bat!"
Harry's trip back to the castle passed quickly. He flew over Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn (who seemed to be teaching Nora to dive, which she was clearly enjoying) and went straight into Gryffindor Tower.
The way the windows were open to let in some cool air during the summer helped, though Harry supposed that technically he could fly in through the windows in winter if he was able to repair them.
That done, he stowed his broomstick, before picking up the wrapped present just in case.
"Oh, is Quidditch practice over already?" Neville asked, looking up from watering one of his spider plants. "That doesn't seem like Oliver Wood."
"No, I've got a meeting with the headmaster," Harry explained, picking up some note parchment and a quill as well. "I'll probably go back to the practice if it doesn't take too long."
He wondered about whether he should bring a book, but it seemed like a rude idea, and besides there were several books in Dumbledore's office anyway.
"Ah, Harry, it's very nice to see you," Professor Dumbledore said, as Harry climbed up through the spiral stairs. "Tell me, how is your Quidditch practice going? I've been wondering whether scheduling the final game after the exams was working out."
"I think it's going okay, Sir," Harry replied, after thinking about it a bit. "I'm not really sure if I'll be still playing Quidditch after this year, though."
"Oh?" the Headmaster asked, raising his eyebrows over his spectacles, and waved his wand – making a pot of tea, some biscuits and the appropriate chinaware appear on his desk. "Is there something wrong with it?"
"Mostly that I'd like to do other clubs," Harry explained. "I keep feeling like I don't have enough time to do everything, and I've got an idea for a club to run myself next year – but I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep it up, it depends how much homework my extra lessons will be."
"A fine reason, Harry, a fine reason," Dumbledore said. "Shall I be mother?"
Harry blinked. "Pardon?"
"Ah, something I see you've not encountered," Dumbledore smiled. "It's simply the way in which people ask if they are going to pour the tea."
"I'm okay not having any, Sir," Harry replied. "Where did it come from? I'm pretty sure the textbook says you can't conjure food, though I can eat things that most people don't call food anyway."
"And that is true," Dumbledore agreed. "It is, indeed, impossible to conjure good food. In this case, however, the tea was prepared ahead of time by a delightful house-elf named Farley and the biscuits are from my own personal collection. Do try one of those, at least."
Harry did so, picking up a chocolate-coated one and giving it a nibble. It seemed really rather nice, though it wasn't one he was familiar with.
"Now, as to why I wished to speak to you, Harry," Dumbledore went on. "Firstly, I wanted to remind you about where it would be best for you to stay over the course of the summer."
"I know I'm going back to Privet Weyr for the first month," Harry assured him. "Is it a month? I'm not sure of how long it takes the magic to recharge."
"Alas, I am unsure myself," Dumbledore admitted. "But since a month worked out well last summer – for I can tell that the spell is still in place – then a month should be fine if you are not too troubled by it."
Harry nodded, fairly sure he'd be okay with a month. It would mean he could get his homework done, pick up some books, and so on, and depending on when the letter went out for what they needed for school he could get his things for Third Year at the same time.
"Excellent," Dumbledore pronounced. "Then there is the other matter, which is those spells which it would be ideal for you to learn at some point, preferably quite soon, but which are rather too dangerous to practice here at Hogwarts – even if you had the time."
He smiled at that, as if there was a joke, but Harry wasn't sure what it was.
"You mean the Fiendfyre spell you mentioned, Professor?" Harry checked.
"Quite correct, Harry," Dumbledore agreed. "And any other spells which fall into that same category, as I am sure there will be some. Now, I know that young Sirius has a house in Hogsmeade now, but Fiendfyre is a little too dangerous to practice there either, and in any case it would be best to work up to it with some less destructive spells. I merely wished to assure you that I am aware of the difficulty and I am doing my best to come up with a solution."
Harry supposed that that was nice to know, and said so.
Dumbledore put a finger to his chin. "Perhaps-" he began, and then stopped.
"Professor?" Harry asked, worried.
"It seems we are about to have some visitors," Dumbledore explained. "I believe this must be the board of governors about to grace us with their presence."
Harry had met a board of governors before, at primary school, but they hadn't been very intimidating people and they'd mostly asked him about how he thought Little Whinging JMI was doing and if anything could be better.
Thinking about it now, Harry realized that what he'd said about maybe having a landing pad in case it was raining had probably not made much sense, at least to the board of governors – at the time he'd thought that everyone could see he was a dragon, and he'd spread his wings to emphasize the point, but since he now knew that to Muggles doing that just looked like spreading his hands he probably didn't manage to persuade them.
This board of governors sort of looked similar, except they were all wizards and one or two witches. Mr. Malfoy was first, then four people who Harry didn't recognize, and they all stopped to look at him.
"Albus, what is this?" asked one of the wizards Harry didn't recognize. "Why is the Potter dragon here?"
"Ah, Grosvenor," Dumbledore smiled. "It is as much of a pleasure as always to see you. As I don't believe you've met, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Grosvenor Pucey, one of the Board of Governors."
Harry waved.
"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for why Mr. Potter is here," Mr. Malfoy said.
"Alas, the best I have is a slightly unreasonable explanation," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I'm afraid I was discussing things with Mr. Potter and quite lost track of the time of this meeting."
Harry had the feeling that there were things going on that he didn't fully follow.
"I'm sure it won't be a problem, Albus," said one of the other governors, a witch with a cheerful smile.
Mr. Pucey pursed his lips. "This is a serious issue, Amritt. The headmaster of Hogwarts must respect the authority of the board of governors."
"I assure you, Grosvenor, I have a great deal of respect for the board of governors," Dumbledore said. "Would any of you like some tea?"
The witch called Amritt accepted, as did one of the other wizards, and Mr. Pucey waited while the tea was poured out before resuming.
"Albus," he said, with a sort of sigh. "You must realize that we've allowed your little entertainments long enough. It's been a worthy experiment – a noble experiment, I suppose – but by now the futility of it must be obvious."
"I suppose you're right," Dumbledore sighed, looking downcast. "I was really hoping that I could pull off golden stars on a silver background."
He put one of the teacups away. "I suppose I shall have to replace it with one with more complimentary colours."
"Amusing," Mr. Malfoy said, drily. "But of course the experiment to which Grosvenor refers is the non-human students at the school. Need I remind you, Albus, that fifty years ago there was a non-human student at this school and he was expelled in his third year?"
"You do not need to remind me, Lucius, I remember it quite well," Professor Dumbledore said. "Though I do not see the relevance to current events."
"They're dangerous!" Mr. Pucey burst out. "There have been complaints – the Sphinx attacked someone last term!"
"Ah, I believe I remember the incident," Professor Dumbledore said. "Miss Sanura was most apologetic, and has promised to keep her reactions under better control in the future, but to my memory the correct way to describe the incident would be that Miss Goldhorn was going through Miss Lovegood's things at the time, and Miss Sanura naturally reacted strongly to the possibility that someone would steal from her friend."
"I wasn't aware of this," said the last member of the delegation, a witch Harry hadn't met. "Grosvenor, you told us that that incident was an unprovoked attack."
"Perhaps it was just a matter of interpretation?" Mr. Malfoy suggested.
"No, I distinctly remember that the word unprovoked was used," the witch insisted. "And you said she was quite badly hurt."
"Nothing more than a bad case of being frightened and a bit of shoving, I believe," Dumbledore said mildly. "I will of course be keeping an eye on the situation, Grosvenor, but you must remember that this is a school, after all. If I were to punish students severely for shoving one another I dare say there would be twenty detentions a week for that alone."
Mr. Pucey looked slightly lost, and Harry saw him glance at Mr. Malfoy.
"Perhaps we should consider that one as a minor disciplinary incident, since handled," Lucius suggested. "I hope there's not a pattern of such incidents, though?"
"Not with Miss Sanura, certainly," Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Aside from that minor matter, she's been a model student – and, indeed, I would dare say that a witch who reacted with outrage to defend her friend would be a better person than one who did not, so long as nobody was hurt in the process."
He tapped his finger on his chin. "Certainly I would not say the same of a witch who was willing to take something from another student's possessions."
"What about the other one, the wolf?" Mr. Pucey demanded. "I can't believe that a wolf from a forest could possibly fit in at Hogwarts – either behaving properly or passing exams."
He sniffed. "You must understand that, just because there was that ill-advised amendment, you can't simply pull in whoever you meet."
"Though that isn't the only concern we have," Mr. Malfoy interjected. "There are of course concerns in general about, ah, pranks… my son has told me there's something of a notorious problem with some quite cruel pranks being played by two Gryffindor fourth-years."
"You must be referring to Fred and George Weasley," Dumbledore declared. "Indeed, you are correct, though I will note that again they are usually punished in school. It also seems that they may have met something not far from their match, recently – a pair of first-year Slytherins have been contesting them, quite successfully."
His eyes twinkled merrily. "I have asked them all whether they would like to stop, but for some reason none of them displays the least bit of interest."
"Is that how you keep control of students, Albus?" Mr. Pucey said, with a hint of a sneer. "You ask nicely?"
"I have found it works quite well," Dumbledore replied mildly. "Manners can take you quite a long way, Grosvenor."
"Be that as it may, Albus," Mr. Malfoy said, with a little smile. "I believe Grosvenor mentioned the problem with that young wolf?"
"Yes, the young miss June Forrester," Dumbledore agreed. "Is there a problem? Hufflepuff has quite whole-heartedly accepted her, you know."
"That doesn't mean anything," Mr. Pucey said, shaking his head. "Hufflepuff would accept a lettuce."
"Grosvenor!" gasped the witch who Harry didn't know anything about.
"What?" Mr. Pucey replied airily. "It's true! And just because they say that they don't have a problem doesn't mean there isn't a problem."
"If there was a lettuce that could do schoolwork and cast magic, wouldn't it be okay to make them a student?" Harry asked.
Everybody except Dumbledore jumped.
"Goodness, I quite forgot you were there," said the other wizard.
"Why is the Potter boy here?" Mr. Pucey asked.
"Why not?" Harry said, who'd spent the time thinking about the ways that what was going on was like what he'd thought was going to happen. "You're talking about June like she might have to leave the school, but she's followed all the rules, and she's been doing her best on her exams!"
Harry's wings flapped out a little. "She asked me for help about being able to write better, and she does still have trouble with it, but if that's the only reason she failed her exams then that isn't really fair, is it? It's like she got less time to write than anyone else did."
"I hardly think this is appropriate," Mr. Pucey said.
"Well, Mr. Potter is friends with our other non-human students," Dumbledore replied pleasantly. "Did you have more to say, Harry?"
"I just wanted to say that, um… if you're talking about expelling someone, then you shouldn't have to ask about whether they did something wrong," Harry said. "It seems like… well, like it would have to be really obvious and someone would have to be really bad to get expelled. I mean, You-Know-Who went to school here, and he wasn't expelled."
Mr. Malfoy looked slightly annoyed by what Harry had just said, and Mr. Pucey seemed to have found a lemon to bite into somewhere, but the other governors were nodding. Harry was quite proud of that, because it was the one he thought was probably his best argument.
"Just because you defeated You-Know-Who does not earn you special treatment, boy," Mr. Pucey retorted.
"But… I don't want special treatment," Harry said, puzzled. "I don't know what counts as being something that means you need to be expelled, but I don't think I've done anything that's even against the rules."
"And what about what you said about the wolf?" Mr. Pucey said.
"Well, I don't really think she's a wolf," Harry replied, frowning. "We talked about it, and she said that she liked the sound of the word warg. You know, from the Lord of the Rings."
None of the governors seemed to understand what Harry meant by that.
"If one looked back far enough, one might discover that Miss Forrester qualified as human," Dumbledore mused. "Her family is descended from a werewolf, and a werewolf qualifies as human, and as was previously discussed-"
"There can't be any proof-" Mr. Pucey began, but Mr. Malfoy interrupted him and he immediately went quiet.
"Perhaps we should end this line of questioning, before Albus asks us to all prove that we are human," Mr. Malfoy said, with a little chuckle. "I think we can at least agree that, regardless of whether or not Miss Forrester deserves any more exam time, her exam results stand. I must regretfully insist that she be treated the same as any other student who fails and be removed from the school."
"Dear me, that seems quite a request," Dumbledore replied. "My condolences, Lucius, on your son having to leave the school."
Mr. Malfoy stopped smiling.
"What?" he demanded.
"Well, you see, Miss Forrester did really rather well," Dumbledore explained. "Harry and Miss Tanisis did both score more highly than she did, but Miss Forrester was a little less than halfway up the class rankings. I'm afraid that if we did exclude all students who scored less well than she did we'd lose nearly half of Hogwarts."
"Then there seems no real point in insisting," said Amritt. "It seems that Albus' great experiment is going quite well so far."
"Those results can't possibly be genuine!" Mr. Pucey insisted. "The wolf – she – she grew up in a forest! How can she have done better than half the class?"
"By studying?" Harry asked. "I know she worked very hard on learning English."
"Well, Grosvenor, if you insist that her test results were incorrect, we could of course look at her school work," Dumbledore suggested mildly. "By a very great coincidence, I happen to have the entire body of work for that school year in my cupboard. I believe it was a mistake by the house-elf who cleaned the room this morning, and I was not particularly relishing getting it all sorted out again."
"I believe we've taken quite enough of Albus' time," Mr. Malfoy said, after a few seconds of frowning.
"Oh," Harry said, suddenly remembering something.
The whole meeting hadn't gone anything like he'd expected it to, being much more of a friendly conversation than like when he'd had to speak to the Wizengamot, but there was one thing he'd been trying not to forget.
It took a moment of hunting around to find the present, which had fallen out from under his wing when he'd been talking, but once it was found he held it out in one paw to Mr. Malfoy.
"I know we had a bit of a fight last year in Diagon Alley," he said. "But I thought it might help if I tried to make up with you, Sir."
"Well, well, a dragon with manners," Mr. Malfoy noted, taking the present – wrapped in silver and green paper, which Harry had taken care to get from Blaise. "Will wonders never cease."
He squeezed it, and frowned slightly. "Clothing, Potter?"
"I knitted it myself," Harry explained. "Why? Is there a problem?"
"I do hope you weren't trying to free my house-elf," Mr. Malfoy said, then smiled slightly. "Just a joke, of course."
He nodded his thanks to Harry, and followed the other governors down the stairs. Harry caught one of them saying something about how Mr. Malfoy's house-elf wasn't a very good house-elf to begin with.
Harry spent the afternoon, and the next day, mostly embroiled in Quidditch practice. Oliver Wood wanted to win the Quidditch Cup with himself as the captain at least once, as he explained, and there were only two years left to try and do that in.
He did wonder a bit about what Percy thought about Oliver, with how Percy thought that getting good grades was extremely important while Oliver was quite willing to spend all hours of the day and night training at Quidditch, working on Quidditch strategies or in extreme cases talking about Quidditch. But, then again, maybe that was part of why Percy had ended up a heron.
(Harry assumed that if you lived in a dorm room with Oliver Wood for years you ended up at least somewhat interested in Quidditch, if only as a self-defence mechanism.)
Then came the day of the final.
"Okay, look," Fred said, looking up at the sky. "Harry, I'm not saying you should catch the Snitch quickly."
"In fact, I'm saying you shouldn't catch the Snitch quickly," George added. "Because if you do that and we don't win then Oliver will literally flatten you."
Harry looked at his body. "I'm not sure I can be flattened," he said, thinking about it. "I've got a rib cage, and everything else about me is very tough, so I think the ribs must be even tougher."
"Oh, he'd find a way," Alicia agreed. "Wouldn't you, Oliver?"
"If it's related to Quidditch, then yes," Oliver called, checking his formation diagrams. "Otherwise, no."
"There you go," said George. (Harry wasn't certain that that twin was George, but he was sure that that twin was the twin who turned into a mink. Once they picked Marauder names, or someone picked Marauder names for them, he'd know better which twin was which Marauder than which Marauder was which of Fred or George.)
"As I was saying," Fred interrupted. "I'm not saying you should catch the Snitch quickly, but I've got a couple of things to say about that anyway. Firstly, it's probably good if you catch the Snitch as soon as catching it would let us win."
He pointed up. "And, secondly, if the game goes long enough, we might need to find out how resistant dragons are to being struck by lightning."
Harry followed Fred's arm, but he already knew what Fred was talking about.
The air had been feeling kind of heavy all morning, and as Harry understood it that was actually because there was less air than normal. It was a little bit harder to fly by flapping his wings, though not much, because the pressure was low.
That was a sign of bad weather on the way. Though he had to admit that the giant towering thunderhead cloud looming over the area was a better sign of bad weather on the way.
"Any idea how long we have before it arrives?" Alicia asked.
Fred shook his head, but George took out his wand and cast a spell to tell him what the time was.
Waving his wand to dispel the numbers, he muttered something under his breath – counting on his fingers one at a time.
"...nope," he said eventually. "No clue."
"Great, thanks," Alicia snorted.
"The match is starting soon, though," George added. "So we should probably head to the pitch."
Almost the moment the game began, Harry had things to do.
He wasn't meant to be going after the Snitch just yet, but Oliver had him flying interference for the Chasers – first making sure that the Ravenclaw Chaser, Roger Davies, couldn't get past to reach Katie without flying directly through Harry, and then using his wing to block a Bludger shot.
The whole of the first five minutes of the game were like that, a back-and-forth melee that saw three Gryffindor goals and two Ravenclaw ones, and then finally things seemed to calm down a little bit and Oliver waved a signal at Harry.
Harry recognized it as the one they'd talked about where Harry was meant to play Snitch defence, and tilted his broom up a little to gain height. He'd already spotted the Snitch, flitting along by the grass, but so long as the Ravenclaw Seeker didn't see it he was okay – and he was closer to it than she was, despite how he was higher in the air, so he'd be able to block her if he had to.
Angelina scored. Then Fred fouled a Ravenclaw pass with a Bludger, but Jeremy Stretton managed to snag the Quaffle and score a point in return.
Forty-twenty. Fifty-twenty. Fifty-thirty. The score went up, slowly but steadily, and the Gryffindor lead grew and then shrank… everyone might have wanted the game to be over before the weather broke, but since neither side wanted to concede the game just to let that happen it all gave the play an energy that Harry hadn't really had the chance to see before.
As he was orbiting over some of the emptier parts of the stands, though, Harry saw a strange sight.
A house-elf was watching the game, long fingers scrunched up as he gripped the fabric of a familiar-looking pillowcase… and there was a paper hat made of silver and green wrapping paper on his head.
Glancing at the pitch to check on where the Snitch was – the Ravenclaw seeker was a long way away from it – Harry dropped a little lower.
"Dobby?" he asked.
Dobby had already seen him, and nodded quickly.
"Harry Potter is very wise!" he said. "And so kind, to recognize Dobby after so long..."
The house-elf looked down for a moment. "Dobby is very sorry for making your first Quidditch match go so badly."
"It's okay, Dobby," Harry told him, glancing back at the game again to make sure he wasn't needed. The score was now ninety-fifty, and the Gryffindors cheered as Katie made it 100-50, but an ominous rumbling made it sound like the thunderstorm didn't have long to wait.
"Dobby, do you work for the Malfoys?" Harry asked, then.
Dobby gasped.
"How did Harry Potter know?" he asked, clutching his pillowcase, and his hat nearly fell off.
Then Cho Chang began to dive, and Harry had to cut short the conversation to head her off – stopping her from catching the glittering spark of gold, without actually catching it himself.
Half an hour later, the game was still going and the rain was coming down in sheets. Water drummed on Harry's head, slid off his wings in waves, and a few minutes ago there'd been an earsplitting thundercrack as a bolt of lightning struck the tallest tree in the Forbidden Forest.
It hadn't hit the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, which was higher, but maybe that was because as far as the Astronomy Tower was concerned it wasn't stormy at all.
"Gryffindor scores!" Lee Jordan called. "Or so I'm told! It's now one hundred and ninety to one hundred and ten!"
Lee was exaggerating, it was still possible to see the bright red Quaffle, but it was a bit too dark to easily see the Snitch. Unless-
A bolt of sheet lightning blazed across the sky, and Harry saw it. He turned, wings tracing a path through the sky, and beat his wings as hard as they would go.
His catch of the Snitch was more a sort of splat, as he couldn't pull up before he hit the ground and traced a muddy furrow twenty feet long, but when he held it up and Madam Hooch blew the whistle he was pretty sure he could hear the sigh of relief from the entire audience.
Even Ravenclaw. It was far too wet.
"That's three catches out of three!" Ron said, an hour or so later, once the celebration in Gryffindor Common Room had calmed down slightly and the friends could get a table to themselves. "Harry, that's just amazing!"
Harry shrugged. "If you say so."
"Come on, Harry," Dean said, sniggering. "You've scored four hundred and fifty points for Gryffindor's Quidditch team this year. And since it's about the only sport we have – despite my best efforts – you should feel proud."
That made Harry smile a little.
"So, how are you going to do next year?" Ron added.
"I'm… actually thinking of not doing Quidditch," Harry admitted.
Ron groaned. "What, really?"
"Well… it just takes up too much time," Harry replied. "With my schoolwork, I barely have the time for anything else, and I'd rather do other things than do Quidditch."
"You are mental, mate," Ron pronounced. "But who's going to be the Seeker if you're not?"
"Cormac?" Neville suggested. "He's the backup."
"Well, there goes any hope of any of my teams catching the Snitch for the next year," Ron commented.
"Oi," Ginny snorted. "You do remember I'll be in second year next year, right? I might not be as good at seeing the Snitch as Harry is, but I'll give you a run for your money trying to catch it."
"Shouldn't that be give Harry a run for his money?" Hermione asked pedantically.
"What?" Ginny replied, confused. "No. Harry's ridiculously good. I'm just hoping to be good by the standards of normal Quidditch."
"So what are you going to be doing with the free time from not doing Quidditch?" Dean asked.
Harry had been thinking about that, so he began counting on his talons. "Read more books. Go to visit Fort William more often. Go to visit Hogsmeade, because we can do that in Third Year-"
"Kind of redundant for you to go visit Hogsmeade, isn't it?" Ron asked. "If you can fly to Fort William, I mean."
"It's still nice," Harry shrugged. "There was also an idea I had to set up a kind of… support meeting, for all the non-human students, because Tanisis and June had problems this year and they didn't know who to talk to about them. And I was also thinking about doing that Dungeons and Dragons thing, too."
"That would be pretty cool," Neville agreed. "Maybe we can have a story in this one."
"That's kind of a lot of things from cancelling one sports club, isn't it?" Dean asked.
"Oliver Wood is a bit obsessed," Harry explained. "But I might not have time for all those things, because we'll be doing more subjects."
"I think it should be possible to fit all those things in," Hermione judged. "Percy says that you have enough time in the day even if you're a Prefect doing twelve subjects, though all he said about how was that the teachers can help make it work."
She shrugged. "I'm not really sure what that means, honestly. There's only twenty-four hours in a day."
"Unless you're Weyrlady Moreta," Harry pointed out.
"Moreta?" Neville asked. "I don't remember that one."
"I'll lend you a copy," Harry promised.
"We're way off topic," Ron said. "So… how bad was it flying out there? We had Nora's wing to shelter under and it was still really wet."
"Did Nora have something to shelter under?" Harry asked.
"Hagrid put up his umbrella," Hermione supplied. "He told Nora not to eat it, and she didn't, so I think that worked."
Harry smiled at the thought, then remembered what Ron had asked. "Oh, actually, there was one thing that was kind of odd… Dobby was in the stands."
"Did the Quaffle try to tie your tail in a knot?" Ginny asked. "I think I would have noticed that."
"No, I think he was just watching," Harry replied. "He said sorry, but… I worked out whose he is. He's Mr. Malfoy's House-Elf."
"Merlin's lugholes!" Ron breathed.
"Ron!" Hermione said sharply. "Language!"
Ron began to protest, and Hermione raised a hand. "No, wait, hold on. Lugholes… that's ear holes, right?"
"Well, yeah," Ron agreed. "I wanted to be a bit more creative and less rude."
"Then I apologize," Hermione told him.
"So now we know whose House-Elf Dobby is," Neville said. "What do we actually do with that?"
"Well, I'm going to make sure Dumbledore knows," Harry replied. "But apart from that… I really kind of wish there was a way to get him free from there."
"But there is," Hermione told them all. "I don't know if Dobby knows it – it's one of the horrible things they used to do with badly treated slaves, they tried to not let them know there was a way to escape – but it's illegal to treat a House-Elf the way they were treating Dobby."
"It might be illegal, but I don't really think most of the awful pure-blood households who treat their elves badly care about that," Neville said.
"They will," Hermione insisted. "They will if I have anything to say about it."
"Well, Malfoy's doomed," Dean decided.
"Probably," Ginny agreed.
She took out her wand, and looked at it.
"It's going to be so weird not being allowed to use this," she mused. "You get used to it, right?"
"No," Ron told her. "Not at all. Oh, by the way, charge up a few quills with an ink eraser spell on the feathers, and do your homework early."
"...are you sure you're my brother?" Ginny demanded. "And not a Metamorphagus or something?"
"We're all Metamorphaguses," Ron replied. "Didn't you know? Mum must not have told you yet."
"Nice try, but I've seen Fred, George and Percy's Animagus forms," Ginny countered. "But why are you saying I should do my homework early?"
"Because it's way easier if you can erase the words you get wrong," Ron explained. "Though I am really kind of interested in that thing from the New Scientist, I might have to find a way to watch fellytision."
"Television?" Hermione asked. "And what thing do you mean?"
"The comet," Ron reminded her.
"Oh, that's next summer, they think," Hermione told him. "But that does remind me, we never did work out what kinds of electrical things work at Hogwarts..."
The last few days of Harry's time at Hogwarts as a Second Year were a lot like the last few days of his time at Hogwarts as a First Year – a mixture of saying goodbye, and packing up, and making whatever notes might help with their homework over the summer.
They got their marks, which were good overall – Neville's Potions score was still the worst any of them had in any subject, but it was improving – and they all had to write down what subjects they were going to take just to be certain.
The main difference was when Harry went down to Hagrid's hut, not only to say goodbye to him but to say goodbye to Nora as well.
"Goodbye?" Nora repeated, frowning. "Oh! So you going back to your room?"
"Sort of," Harry replied. "It's like… you remember last summer? I had to go for two months, while you got bigger, and when I got back you'd learned to talk."
"I learned to talk!" Nora agreed proudly, head tilted a little, then her face fell. "You have to go?"
She looked at herself, checking how big her wings were, then spread them out. "Until I'm this much bigger?"
"I'll be back in two months," Harry assured her. "I don't think you'll be that much bigger by then."
"Months?" Nora repeated, looking over at Hagrid. "What's a month?"
"About ten and ten and ten days," Hagrid answered.
Harry closed his eyes. "Thirty is," he began, opened them again, and said "Thirty."
"Thanks, Harry," Hagrid said. "I'll remember that one. Right useful one."
Harry wondered if Hagrid was going to end up speaking Dragonish better than he spoke English.
"Will you get bigger?" Nora asked then. "You used to be bigger than me. Now you're smaller."
"I might get a bit bigger?" Harry said, shrugging his wings. "I don't know."
Nora then pounced suddenly forwards, wrapping her forelegs around Harry – wings and all – and giving him a fierce hug.
Then she recoiled, loosening her grip, and looked back at Hagrid.
"Go ahead," Hagrid told her. "Harry's tough."
Thus reassured, she hugged Harry again.
"Sad you won't be here," she told him.
The leaving feast came next, where Professor Dumbledore asked to say a few words before everybody got down to having their dinner.
As it transpired, the few words he wanted to say were the words 'few, fewer, fewest, fewtrils, fewfold, fewel.'
He then awarded the House Cup to Ravenclaw, the Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor, and told them all that they should enjoy as much of the food as possible, as it would be far too stale to serve as leftovers when they came back.
"I think this is about as many people as we can fit into this compartment," Ron mused, as the Hogwarts Express raced through what was probably southern Scotland. "If we want anyone else in here, it'd have to be Percy."
"Why Percy?" Dean asked.
"I'm fairly sure he knows how to expand rooms and stuff," Ron explained. "It's not like there's anyone else I can think of who could."
"Or Harry could just set up his tent," George suggested. "Or those of us who've learned how to turn into animals yet could just turn into animals, which would free up a bit more space."
"Could work," Ron nodded.
Further conversation was interrupted for a few minutes when Ginny's owl Pigwidgeon got loose, and promptly bounced off all the walls with a series of increasingly enthusiastic chirrups until Harry caught him in a pair of cupped wings.
"Hold on a moment," Ginny requested, getting out some parchment and scribbling on it. "...there we go. Hey, Pig? Got a letter for you to take!"
The hyperactive little owl perked up, bouncing over and offering his leg. Ginny tied the note to it, then opened the window and threw him out.
"Who's that to?" Neville asked.
"Mum and Dad, actually," Ginny admitted. "I just wanted to make sure he had something to do."
She frowned. "Actually, maybe we should rest Errol over the summer by having Pig do all the work, he's certainly good for it."
"Sounds like a plan," Ron nodded.
"Oh!" Fred said, with a sound like that of someone who'd just had a great revelation.
"What is it?" his twin asked, looking at where Fred was in Tooth and Fang. "Is it even funnier than they've been saying?"
"Well, yeah, but that's not what I was gasping about," Fred replied. "I just realized – our DADA teacher this year!"
He paused expectantly.
Everybody else waited expectantly.
"...well, go on then, you prat," Ron said eventually.
"Pseudonym," Fred answered. "I bet Sue D. Nym wasn't her real name after all."
"Are you sure?" Hermione asked. "It does sounds like it, but then again Professor Vector teaches Arithmancy."
"But that would mean that it would be a good name for someone who was undercover," George pointed out. "So maybe that is her name, but teaching Defence isn't her normal job?"
"But if she was undercover, then using her real name would be a bad idea," Fred mused. "Unless it's because she's American, so nobody here would recognize her?"
"If she's really American," Harry added. "Or human? Maybe we should have remembered to look up in class, in case there was a griffin up there."
"Why a griffin?" Ron asked, perplexed.
"Dragons are Beauxbatons," Harry replied.
Everybody agreed that this was a good answer and that Ron should have seen it coming, except for Ron.
Some hours later, as they were going through the Midlands, both Fred and George had decided to go ahead and make a bit more space by shifting to their Animagus forms.
This time, it was the one who was calling himself Fred who was the mink and the one who the mink said was George who was the pine marten. (Identifying those had taken half an hour with a Muggle I-Spy book, but they were all quite confident that what they had was a mink and a pine marten.)
One of the initially unexpected benefits of being able to change shape like that was that Fred was now able to seriously contemplate eating a Pumpkin Pasty larger than his own torso.
Nobody was quite sure if he'd succeed, but it was fun to watch him try as the friends discussed some of the things that they were hoping would come up in next year's lessons – or, in Ginny's case, what she guessed might be an option for her in a bit more than a year.
The door slid open a crack as they talked, and a reddish-orange shape came slinking in. Looking around with bright, alert eyes, the fox jumped up onto a free seat and contemplated a leap up to the table – then spotted Fred, who'd stopped eating his pasty.
For a moment, the vulpine intruder looked uncertain, and then George landed on top of them.
There was a short, fuzzy scuffle, and then George blurred back into human form with the fox held gently but firmly in both hands.
"Aha!" he said proudly. "You're not the only ones who can play the long game!"
Tyler (or Anne) yipped something which Harry assumed was probably rude.
"Want to come around during the summer?" George added. "I think we'd get on like a house on fire."
"Please let that not be literal," Ginny asked plaintively.
They reached Kings Cross in the middle of the afternoon, and Harry waved goodbye to his friends before heading for the exit out into the Muggle station.
He could have flown home, but it seemed only polite to at least look to see whether Uncle Vernon was waiting.
When he passed through the barrier, however, he noticed Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, but he also saw Sirius.
Surprisingly, Sirius was wearing clothes that looked a lot more like what Remus usually wore – slightly shabby and old – instead of the smart-casual that Sirius preferred in the Muggle world or the jeans-and-T-shirt that he usually wore in Grimmauld Place or his new house in Hogsmeade.
"Harry, there you are!" he said. "And these are your uncle and aunt?"
Harry nodded, and Uncle Vernon eyed Sirius suspiciously.
"Who's this, then?" he asked shortly. "Don't think I've seen you before. You're one of… them?"
"Of course!" Sirius agreed, smiling brightly. "Sirius Black's the name. You'd be Vernon, and this must be Petunia!"
Aunt Petunia nodded, very slightly.
"I remember Lily talked about you!" Sirius said, in tones of great delight. "You know, Lily was a friend of mine at school? Well, more of an enemy of mine at school, but that's water under the bridge now – my best friend fell in love with her, you see."
"You're not a friend of that greasy boy, are you?" Petunia asked.
"Oh, no, no, not at all!" Sirius assured her. "Unlike my friend, he's still alive. I haven't been around because of a little matter of multiple homicide and a prison sentence – Azkaban, if you've heard of it – but the good news is that I got let off on a technicality and I'm very pleased to meet you!"
He shook both their hands. "Incidentally, where exactly do you live?"
"Come on, boy, we're leaving," Uncle Vernon said hastily. "And consider yourself not invited!"
Harry tried not to laugh.
It was kind of immature of Sirius to do that to his aunt and uncle, but on the other paw it was also kind of a good thing.
If Sirius could joke about what had happened, well… he was a lot better now. And that put a smile on Harry's muzzle.
AN:
And that's two years done.
Neither Ron nor Ginny knows how to correctly pronounce (or decline) metamorphmagus.